Parallel
by MaximumAlchemist
Summary: This new world scared him. Drabble.
1. Parallel

Edward really didn't know what to think about this _new _world.

It was different. And yet, it was the same.

It was _parallel. _

It _scared_ him.

But that was just crazy, wasn't it? Edward Elric wasn't scared of anything. He was the famous Fullmetal Alchemist who committed human transmutation. Twice.

And lived to tell the tale.

But here he was, standing in the middle of a world that he didn't did not, could not, and _would _not recognize, yet it was so _familiar _at the same time.

He bet if he closed his eyes and took a deep breath, he could feel the beat, the vibe, the flow of _his _world within _this _world.

But it was different.

It didn't suit him well. He just could adapt to it.

It was an uneven wavelength, two unsteady beats pulsing against each other.

It _scared _him.


	2. Answer

**Post-movie**

Edward often wondered how Alfons would react.

As the years progressed after the aftermath of the whole "Shamballa" incident, Edward found himself dwelling more and more on the memories of Alfons Heiderich. It was as if they were coming back to haunt him, to coax him to join the scientist. Or perhaps they were just _there, _without any particular reason.

Or _was_ there?

How would Alfons say this? How would Alfons say to that? How would Alfons react? How would Alfons feel about this? Would he be happy? Or would he be sad?

There were so many, yet so little memories that Edward desperately scraped up, frantically trying to pick up even tiniest shards of the moments that he and the boy shared. He'd often try to piece them together, yet there was always something missing.

Looking back, Edward regrettably wished that he had cherished the moments that he and Alfons shared—even if they were small, simple ones, like the day that Alfons had come home, carrying a tiny kitten. He had pleaded—on his knees—for Edward to let it stay with them. Edward had shaken his head adamantly, refusing. "Our budget is very tight already. We can't afford to feed another mouth."

Alfons had reluctantly returned the tabby back into the alley he had found it in.

Later that night, Edward had commented on how Alfons was so much like his brother, not just in terms of looks, but actions and way of thinking. Alfons had nodded in agreement, but did not speak.

Or that one time that Edward had accidentally called Alfons, "Al" by mistake. Oh, how upset had his little brother's doppelganger gotten that day.

"I'm not him, I'm _myself! Get it _right!"

An argument had sprouted from those words between the two and resulted in a night where no one spoke and tension so thick that you could have taken a knife and cut right through it.

Edward hadn't really apologized for that night, and a gnawing guilt was starting to chew away at him, leaving a bitter aftertaste. He always had been stubborn, and apologies were never his thing. He knew that it was _his _fault, yet he never had the guts to say it out loud. So he apologized—mentally. Maybe he'd do so when the rocketry project was completed. It was about time that he confronted his faults.

He never got the chance.

It was already two years after the war between two worlds. Time, Edward thought, doesn't wait for you. Of course, he had realized this a long time ago, yet he never really given it much care or thought. But now, as the memories crept up on him slowly, he began to pay more attention to them. He now found them as a source of comfort, the little, warm joys he found in them.

Alphonse had noticed this, the odd quirks in Edwards behavior, but he never questioned it. It was hard to grasp it, but he knew that it was something that only Edward could relieve.

Edward hadn't shed a single tear at his friend's funeral, yet inside, his heart was bitterly weeping, crumbling into fine grains of dust. He remained stony-faced, fists clenched at his sides, muscles clenched. Why hadn't he grieved for his death? He wasn't unkind, he wasn't emotionless.

Perhaps it was the thought that Alfons hadn't really died, and he was still with them, right there, smiling, his forget-me-not eyes gleaming.

But that was silly thought. Once someone dies, they can't be brought back again. Edward had, too, learned this rule the hard way. Yet, why was he still hanging by those small, small memories like they were the anchor of his life?

The question wasn't _why, _he had decided. It was _how. _How was he still living? How could he cope with the sadness in him? How was it that the guilt and remorse hadn't devoured him yet?

Edward _knew _the answer to this one.

Alfons wouldn't let Edward throw his life away like that. Like himself, Alfons had sort of a rebellious streak, a stubborn one at that. He _absolutely _would not forgive Edward. He had sacrificed himself for Edward, for his life and happiness. Edward wasn't about to throw that gift away. No, he would not. Life was a valuable gift that couldn't be bought with all the money in the world. It was just…_there. _For you to cherish it.

So Edward continued to walk, on two imperfect legs, but hey, as long as he could still stand, it was fine. And he would continue to do so until his last dying breath.

And that would be Alfons's answer.

_"We're real, Edward. We're not just part of your dreams like you thought. I care and I make mistakes. I may not live much longer but I'll still be here. Just don't forget_ _me_._"_

* * *

**I am now looking for a beta. **


End file.
